


Making Friends

by dracoqueen22



Series: Tethers [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Developing Friendships, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Even the best of friendships take a little time and a lot of patience. It's the little moments in between the momentous events which really form the ties.
Series: Tethers [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Conversation Starter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of interactions between the eight main characters of the adventuring party, mostly a challenge to myself to get them to all interact with each other and see what comes about. I'd love to know what you think!

  
Easton loitered in the periphery of their camp like a stray animal who couldn't decide if he wanted to be kept or not. He sat on a stump, legs curled lotus beneath him, long white braid tucked over a shoulder, studiously ignoring their entire party.  
  
Tempest couldn't stop staring. He was so pretty. Pretty like women were pretty. She didn't know men could be so pretty. She imagined him painted up like a princess, his hair dripping in jewels, his body draped in fine materials, perhaps a dress to swish around his ankles.  
  
Oh, they’d suit him well. He was pretty enough for it.  
  
She gnawed on a strip of dried venison and contemplated their guide. He was tall, too. A little on the thin side. Gods, he had the longest legs, too. They went on for days. He wielded a longbow, which meant he had strong arms and hands. Good for lifting things.  
  
"You're drooling," Dakota said.  
  
"I'm not!" Tempest said.  
  
Except maybe she was. So she wiped at the corner of her mouth.  
  
"He's so pretty," she mumbled around the meat. She shifted her weight, calves aching a bit from the casual crouch she'd dropped into.  
  
"Aye, and likely to bite your head off if you try, so don't bother," Dakota grumbled as he bent over the new pair of socks he was knitting for her.  
  
It was a strange thing. Her socks kept getting holes in them, right at the tip where her big toe was. She went through socks like most people went through... well, something they tend to go through quickly anyway.  
  
"Maybe he's nicer on a one-by-one basis," Tempest contemplated aloud. She sucked her fingers clean. "He just needs to get to know us."  
  
"I don't think that's going to help," Dakota warned, but there wasn't much strength behind it. Just a kind of tired resignation.  
  
Good. He was learning.  
  
Tempest stood up, hissed when her calves protested, and bent over to rub at them. "I'm going to go talk to him," she declared after the initial spasms ended.  
  
Dakota sighed.  
  
Tempest adjusted her clothing, dragged a hand through her hair, and then realized she'd kind of dragged a bunch of jerky-spit through her curls, too. Oops.  
  
"Wish me luck," she said and picked her way through the camp, skirting around the low fire and tossing a wink at Rathi as she passed.  
  
"You beat me to it," Rathi said with a slanted look at Easton, a bit of hunger in her eyes. Tempest couldn't blame her.  
  
He was so damn pretty.  
  
Then again, their whole party was gorgeous. Tempest wondered how she got so lucky to be able to travel with a whole group of pretty, pretty people. She could ogle all day and never get bored, except Dakota. He was pretty in his own way, but Tempest didn’t ogle him. That would be weird, and a little gross.  
  
He was like her little brother. She had to keep an eye on him for his safety, not for ogling him.  
  
"You can have the leftovers," Tempest promised.  
  
Rathi chuckled, and Tempest let her be, approaching Easton without bothering to hide the fact she was doing so. She didn't want to sneak up on him. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later.  
  
Closer now, she could see he was reading. He balanced easily on the log, and a book was open in his lap. He leaned to the side, one elbow on his knee, chin balanced on his knuckles, and though he looked completely absorbed in the book, Tempest figured he had to be paying attention to his surroundings.  
  
He had to know she was coming.  
  
Still, she tromped extra loud on a few crunchy leaves just to make sure. Easton’s short-sword was within reach, and though she couldn’t see the longbow, she figured it was close at hand and ready to draw in a flash.  
  
“Isn’t it too dim for you to see that?” Tempest asked as she moved to crouch in front of Easton, so that he couldn’t hide from her by looking down.  
  
He turned a page without meeting her gaze. “I have dark-vision,” he said. He had a deep voice, deeper than she would have expected for someone so lithe.  
  
Tempest propped her elbow on a knee and her chin on her palm. “Oh. Well, that’s handy. I wish I had dark-vision.”  
  
He said nothing. He focused on his book as if he thought she’d give up and go away, probably in an annoyed huff. Well, Dakota would. Probably Tyrael, too. Not Tempest though. Her curiosity outweighed all of it.  
  
He had such pretty eyes, too. They were honey-brown, but toward the pupil, they were an amber-red in little uneven spikes. She thought he was maybe a half-elf or something, because he had those slightly pointed ears, and most elves were of the lithe sort.  
  
“Whatcha reading?” Tempest asked. She didn’t understand the fascination with reading herself. Books were boring. Sitting in one place to read a book was even more boring.  
  
There were much better ways to spend her time.  
  
Easton tilted the book so she could see the spine and the cover and the title. Not that it helped. Tempest could read, but not whatever this language was. The writing was broad and looping and the letters made no sense to her.  
  
“Okay, so I can mostly read Common, and I can kinda speak Elvish when someone is talking to me nice and slow, but there’s no way I know what this is,” Tempest said. She could also speak Halfling, but doubted that was relevant.  
  
He lowered the book so it was easier for him to see. “Then you don’t need to know what it is.”  
  
“Wow.” Tempest’s eyebrows crawled toward her hairline. “You’re nice to look at, but you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?”  
  
Easton blinked and finally looked at her. He lifted one sculpted eyebrow -- did he sculpt those himself? “Should I be something else?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“We’re strangers,” Easton pointed out. He sounded impatient and put out, like her very presence grated on him. He hadn’t told her to leave yet though so she figured she was winning as long as he didn’t say it outright.  
  
Tempest pushed air through her lips. “So?” She stared at him, like Blizzara used to stare at people who were being rude and ought to know better. “Doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.”  
  
Easton, without taking his eyes away from her, marked his place in the book and closed it, resting one hand on the cover. “What do you want?”  
  
Ohhh. Progress!  
  
Tempest grinned and rocked a bit where she crouched. “You said it. We’re strangers. How about let’s fix that?”  
  
“And if I’m not interested?” He had a weird way of talking, too, lingering on certain words like someone told him he was supposed to emphasize them, but he kept forgetting which ones it was.  
  
Maybe Common wasn’t his native tongue.  
  
Tempest tilted her head, aiming her left ear toward him so she could hear better. “That would be a shame. I’m a pretty interesting person.”  
  
His lips twitched, like he was fighting off the urge to smile. “An odd one at least.”  
  
“You probably think you’re insultin’ me, but you’re not,” Tempest squinted at him. She swallowed a laugh because she thought that might make him clam back up, and she was already making progress. Besides, looking at him was hardly a trial.  
  
He was just so goddamn pretty.  
  
“I rest my case,” he said, but there was a shadow of a smile in his lips, on the edges. She wondered what he’d look like with a real smile, with his eyes bright from humor or happiness.  
  
Tempest grinned and pointed at his mouth. “I saw that.”  
  
He, however, pretended she hadn’t said anything. He gave her a keen look, like he was measuring her, probably in the same way she’d measured him. “... Tempest, right?”  
  
“You remembered!” Tempest stood up, wincing as her calves protested, and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m proud of you. See, we’re not as much strangers as you thought.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased away. He looked at her directly which was nice because Tempest did not want to have to crouch again. Her calves did not like it.  
  
“Now you’re being a smart-ass.”  
  
“What gave me away?”  
  
Easton snorted and sat back a little on the log, looking more engaged this time. “Fine,” he said, with a vague gesture. “What do you want to know?”  
  
Oh, boy. So, so much. But she had to be careful or she’d scare Easton away.  
  
“Hmm.” Tempest tapped her chin before planting her hands on her hips. “What were you reading?”  
  
“It’s a bestiary.”  
  
Tempest blinked. “A what?”  
  
One of Easton’s lips curled with amusement. “Bestiary,” he said, repeating the word slowly. “They’re encyclopedias of various creatures.”  
  
“Does it have pictures?”  
  
“A few.”  
  
Tempest frowned and rocked back and forth on her heels. “I prefer pictures,” she said, and decided to tiptoe into more personal questions, maybe get him to open up. You had to be careful with these stubborn, asshole types. They clammed up faster than a… well, clam. “Where are you from?”  
  
Easton’s lips thinned. His face immediately closed down, and Tempest cursed herself for asking the wrong question. “Nowhere in particular,” he said, and his voice grew thicker, as did his accent, like words were the hardest thing to manage. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Sad past, huh?” Tempest asked, careful to keep her tone light and airy, like she wasn’t really invested in the answer, even though she most definitely was.  
  
Easton squinted. “What makes you say that?”  
  
Tempest tilted her head from side to side, staring up into the canopy of the trees. “Dakota gives me the same answer when I ask him about his hometown. I put two and two together.”  
  
“Perceptive of you,” Easton said.  
  
“I’m a perceptive person!”  
  
“Except for the part where I wanted to be left alone.” Easton picked up his book and brought it into his lap once more, opening it to the marked place.  
  
Damn. She was losing him.  
  
“No one really wants to be alone,” Tempest said, because she knew this to be true. People might say they wanted solitude, but the truth was, they just didn’t want to be hurt anymore, and couldn’t trust the world wouldn’t hurt them.  
  
“I do,” Easton said.  
  
Tempest scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Then you’re lying.”  
  
“Am I.” It wasn’t a question, not the way Easton said it. His head tipped down, back to his book, and Tempest was left looking at the crown of his head, the intricate knot of his long, white braid. She wondered how soft his hair was, or if he liked it being pulled. “We’re done here.”  
  
Tempest opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut. Easton and Dakota were a lot alike, but she got the feeling, she couldn’t push Easton quite like she pushed Dakota. With Dakota, there was a little kernel of affection she could prod at. Tempest knew the name of that kernel only because Dakota had muttered it in his sleep once.  
  
Mathias.  
  
His little brother. Who Dakota loved above all else.  
  
Tempest knew her existence tapped into the part of Dakota desperate to care for another person, and Tempest was willing to slide into that slot, if it brought Dakota out of his shell.  
  
Easton, however.  
  
Easton would need a different approach.  
  
So Tempest smiled brightly, though Easton wasn’t looking at her. “Alright, well, enjoy your book.”  
  
She left with a parting wave, but Easton didn’t acknowledge her departure. He kept his attention focused on his book as though it held all the mysteries of the universe.  
  
Well, it was a start at least.  
  
Tempest hummed to herself as she traced her route back to Dakota’s side, passing Rathi along on the way and offering her a wink. Rathi gave her a thumbs up, but went back to whatever quiet conversation she was having with Celeste. Tyrael was already asleep, wrapped up in his blanket and curled in the roots of a tree.  
  
Dakota didn’t look up when she approached, but he spoke when she flopped onto the forest floor beside him. “How’d it go?”  
  
Tempest grinned and folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the stars through the canopy of trees. “I’m going to adopt him.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Dakota said, and there was a hint of chastisement in his tone, probably a tone he’d used with his younger brother too many times for him to count.  
  
“Why not?” She slanted him a look, idly noticing that he needed a haircut sooner rather than later. “I adopted you.”  
  
Dakota’s brow furrowed, but then he peered at the yarn wrapped around his fingers, and Tempest assumed he was frowning at a knot. “I am reasonably certain it was the other way around.”  
  
“That’s what you think,” Tempest said.  
  
She watched Dakota for a moment. It never ceased to fascinate her, how deftly his fingers moved, almost too quick to track. How he could take a bundle of colorful yarn and within an hour, a sock had taken shape. She’d always heard orcs were clumsy, brutish creatures, but there’s nothing clumsy about Dakota.  
  
Tempest figured a lot of stories she’d heard about a lot of things were just that – stories. They didn’t often match the reality of a thing.  
  
“He’s lonely,” Tempest added after a minute.  
  
Dakota snorted. “I doubt that very much.”  
  
“He is. He just doesn’t want to admit it, so he’s a jerk to people.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” Dakota asked as he squinted at his work, in much the same way Easton had squinted at the pages of his book.  
  
Tempest crossed one leg over the opposite knee and set her foot to bouncing. “You two are a lot alike.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, Dakota said nothing. His face darkened into a glower, and he sighed, doing something with the yarn in his hands.  
  
He shook out the sock, in all its garish colors because he knew Tempest liked having ridiculous socks. “Let me see your foot,” he finally said.  
  
Tempest stuck her foot in his lap, her worn socks covered with dirt and leaves, her big toe sticking out of the hole. She wiggled her toes.  
  
Dakota rolled his eyes, but he held up the sock to the bottom of her foot to check the fit as if this wasn’t the fourth pair he’d knitted for her. He checked the fit every time, and Tempest wondered, had he done this for Mathias, too? Had he knit socks for his younger brother, and had to check the fit as Mathias had grown?  
  
“It’ll work,” he said. “Take your dirty foot back.”  
  
Tempest grinned and obeyed. “We’re gonna keep him,” she said, slanting a look at Easton, who she could barely see around the crackle of the fire, still bent over his book and studiously ignoring everyone else in the party.  
  
“I guess we’ll have to see which of us is right,” Dakota said, and went back to work on her socks.  
  
Pah.  
  
Tempest already knew what the end result was going to be.  
  
Easton was one of them. He just didn’t know it yet.  
  


***


	2. Capes and Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrael’s new companions continue to bafffle him in ways he never expected.

“What are you doing?”  
  
Tyrael tries to ignore the nosy question. He hunches his shoulders and stares harder at the parchment smoothed out in front of him. A few inked lines scrawl across the paper, but words are hard, especially words like these.  
  
They have to be the right words, honest, but not too revealing. Truthful, without spilling his heart on the page.  
  
He misses Elias, all the way down to his marrow, but a part of him worries Elias might not miss him in return. The distance stretches between them, further and further, with every step Tyrael takes from home. Elias might find another, someone who hasn’t gone on a quest of indeterminable length, and who might die in the pursuit of it.  
  
“What are you writing?”  
  
Tyrael huffs and curves his body away from Tempest, attempting to shield the paper from her point of view. “If it was something I wanted to share, I would have told everyone.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not the greatest reader.” Thump goes Tempest’s elbow as she leans on the table beside him. “I was just curious. We’re still strangers, right? We should get to get to know each other.”  
  
"For what reason?" Tyrael asks.  
  
Tempest wriggles her whole body in a shrug. "Because we're going to be friends." She cranes her neck to try and peer over his arm. "Celeste said you had a boyfriend. Are you writing to him?"  
  
Tyrael sighs and scans the common room of the inn, searching the tables full of people engaged in quiet conversation. Easton is off by himself in a dark corner, reading a book while he sips on a tankard, but Tyrael sees no one else from their party.  
  
"Where is Dakota?"  
  
"He took my pants and went up to our room," Tempest says, and despite himself, Tyrael looks down.  
  
She is indeed without pants.  
  
Her tunic drapes to mid-thigh, and her boots come up to mid-calf, but her bare, scarred knees are visible to all and sundry. He fears what the world might see if she were to bend over.  
  
"Why...?" Tyrael pauses, draws a breath to comport himself. "Why did he take your pants?" And how? Had she simply stripped them off here in the common room? Or had she undressed upstairs and then come back downstairs as if her partial nudity was of no concern?  
  
"Because they were ripped," Tempest says in a tone which implies Tyrael is dumb for even asking. She grins and leans forward. "So. Is it a letter to your boyfriend?"  
  
"Why didn't you go with him?" Tyrael asks.  
  
Tempest furrows her brow, looking genuinely confused. "Why would I? The ale's down here. Watching him fix a rip is boring." She brightens. "Maybe if I'm lucky, there'll be a fight."  
  
"Not in this place, I wager," Tyrael says, casting a pointed look around them. It's a subdued inn they've found this time around, full of hard-working individuals too tired after a long day's work to do much more than eat, drink, and engage in quiet chatter.  
  
Denize is not a rowdy village which is precisely why Tyrael enjoys it so much. A shame it's only a brief stopover on their way from Marbadan to Port Udousk.  
  
"Then conversation it is!" Tempest grins and her whole body wriggles, like a puppy demanding attention. "You still haven't answered my question."  
  
Tyrael sighs. The ink has long dried, so he carefully rolls up the parchment once more. "Yes," he says. "I was writing a letter to someone important to me."  
  
"Your boyfriend?" Tempest plants her elbow on the table and leans her head against her knuckles. "What's his name?"  
  
Tyrael tucks the parchment behind his plate armor. "Elias. He's back home. In Alduin."  
  
"Why didn't he come with you?" Tempest asks.  
  
"Because this is my quest, not his," Tyrael says.  
  
Tempest blinks and her brow furrows again. "Is it Celeste's quest, too?"  
  
"She invited herself." Tyrael sits back in his chair and signals the server for another drink. He's going to need one if he's going to get through this conversation. "As for Elias... he had other duties he couldn't abandon to accomplish my quest."  
  
"Is he waiting for you?" Tempest asks.  
  
Tyrael's mouth opens, then closes. He hadn't asked, because he didn't want a promise neither of them could keep. He certainly hopes Elias is willing to wait, but he also doesn't want Elias to be alone. If he meets someone else, Tyrael wishes them well.  
  
Or at least, that would be the honorable thing to say.  
  
His heart aches at the idea of letting Elias go.  
  
"My quest could take a long time," Tyrael says instead. "If I return at all."  
  
Tempest scrunches her nose. "You think you might die?"  
  
"It's a dangerous world," Tyrael says. He rubs his wrist where their encounter with a trapworm had nearly cost him his hand. If not for Celeste, he might have been forced to trade in his greatsword for something he could wield with only one hand. "I'm realistic."  
  
"I mean, I'm realistic, too, but I prefer to think things are going to turn out okay," Tempest says. She taps her chin, her ears flicking in an adorable manner. It’s hard, sometimes, not to see her as a youth given her behavior. Harder still to know she’s actually older than him. "You really love him, huh? That's nice. I don't really do 'love,' but I think it's nice you have someone."  
  
Tyrael furrows his brow. There she goes again, saying something odd as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Tempest blinks and looks confused. "Um. That I think it's sweet you have a boyfriend?" She sits up and tilts her head. "And I hope you can see him again soon?"  
  
"No, I meant the other thing."  
  
"What other thing?"  
  
Tyrael sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nevermind. I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose. Only time will tell what actually happens."  
  
"Just gotta have faith," Tempest chirps, but she leans a little to the left, staring past him, toward one of the table clusters. "Hey, you think he wants company?"  
  
"Who?" Gods, she has the attention span of a gnat.  
  
Tyrael twists to follow her gaze, seeing a lone elf sitting at a table, soot staining his clothes and cheeks, his worn hands cupping a mug of ale. It's impossible to guess his age, given the longspan of elves, but as to whether he desires company? Tyrael doesn't know.  
  
Then again, he hadn't wanted company and that hadn't stopped Tempest.  
  
"Maybe?" Tyrael hazards.  
  
Tempest grins and hops down from the chair, adjusting her clothes and tugging her tunic a bit open at the lapel, physically adjusting the swell of her chest. "I'm going to find out."  
  
Tyrael blinks. "But you're a halfling."  
  
"I am?" Tempest's eyes widen in false surprise.  
  
Tyrael rolls his eyes. "Fine. I see your point. At least promise me you have protection."  
  
Tempest beams at him and pats her side. "Got a dagger right here. Don't leave home without it. Sweet of you to worry though." She tugs at her clothes again, showing even more skin than her unclad legs offer. "Wish me luck."  
  
He isn't sure she needs it. She's got confidence oozing out of her, and she struts up with her shoulders raised and a jaunty pep to her step. She swings by the barkeep, gets two more mugs, and saunters right up to the elf's table, sliding the mug down in front of him.  
  
They are too far for Tyrael to hear their conversation, but he sees the surprise, and then the invitation in the elf's face. Tempest grins and hops up into the chair, her tunic riding up and showing off an obscene amount of thigh, plus the beginning curve of a buttock. She leans forward, squeezing her bosom between her arms, and yes, the elf's eyes drop to it.  
  
Clearly someone is going to have a happy ending tonight.  
  
Tyrael pulls out his parchment for Elias and his quill and dampens the tip. He re-reads what he's written already, and manages to add a few lines before the back of his neck prickles, and he registers someone looming a foot or so away from him.  
  
He sighs quietly and puts down his quill, looking up to see Dakota standing over him, his face built into a glower, though Tyrael suspects that's merely his default expression.  
  
"Where is Tempest?" he asks and only then does Tyrael realize he's clutching fabric which looks like a scarf in his hands, but must actually be Tempest's leggings.  
  
"I am not her keeper," Tyrael says, but he tilts his head toward the corner where he'd last seen her. "She's wooing a companion for the night."  
  
Dakota's eyes narrow. He looks past Tyrael and sighs. "She must have succeeded," he rumbles and looks exasperated as he balls up the leggings and tucks them into a pouch.  
  
Tyrael glances in the corner. Indeed, both Tempest and the elf are gone.  
  
"You're not worried?" he asks.  
  
Dakota snorts. "She can take care of herself." He looks around the common room, brow furrowing as he lingers on Easton before he returns his attention to Tyrael. "You tore your cloak."  
  
Tyrael blinks and follows the line of Dakota's gaze. There is indeed a rip in his cloak, probably from the bramble bush which caught him earlier. His luck has been absolutely terrible since leaving Alduin, from the seasickness to the thievery to the trapworm and now the bramble bush.  
  
He sighs. "So I did." Tyrael fingers the fabric. Elias had bought this for him, having commissioned one of the temple wardens to weave it. Tyrael hadn’t worn it before receiving the quest, and Elias had insisted he do so.  
  
"Give it here."  
  
"Um." Tyrael's hand moves to his clasp before he realizes what he's doing. "Why?"  
  
"Do you want the tear fixed or not?" Dakota asks.  
  
Tyrael feels like he's in the middle of a conversation he doesn't remember having. "I do, but--"  
  
"Then let me have it, and I'll fix it." Dakota holds out his hand expectantly.  
  
Tyrael finishes with the clasp and sweeps the cloak from his shoulders. "Thank you. I appreciate that." He hands it over. "This is, um, important to me."  
  
"Like the pouch, I wager. I understand." Dakota dips his head into a nod as he accepts the cloak, folding it into a neat square for him to carry. "You'll have it back at breakfast." He offers a two-fingered salute before he lumbers away, the most incongruent thing in this tavern right now.  
  
If it bothers him, Dakota shows no sign. He’s probably used to it.  
  
Tyrael sighs and rubs his forehead. He stares down at the letter for Elias. He’s been working on it for weeks. He wonders if he’s ever going to finish it.  
  
He rolls up the parchment and tucks it back into his armor. He finishes his mug of ale and rises from the table, feeling oddly light without the sweep of his cape. He casts a glance around the common room once more, but even Easton has vanished from the corner, leaving Tyrael the last of the party to retire for the evening.  
  
He climbs the stairs to the room he shares with Nym, opening the door as quietly as he can, not that it matters as the tiefling sleeps like the dead and has no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. It’s a terribly good thing he’s attached himself to their party, because Tyrael fears he might not have survived wandering the world alone. It’s not naivete, but a sheer lack of survival instinct.  
  
Nym snores; Tyrael painstakingly strips out of his armor and climbs into the bed, under blankets he hopes are clean, but the smell suggests otherwise. He pulls the pillow over his head to muffle Nym’s raucous breathing. They have a long day of travel tomorrow, toward a decision as vague as the quest he’s understaken.  
  
He misses Elias with a terrible ache in the center of his chest.  
  
He hadn’t understood the weight of duty until he left Alduin. It’s becoming increasingly clear he hadn’t understood much at all.  
  
This is the vow he’s made, however, and he can’t turn his back on Cyrillus. He can only keep moving forward.  
  
Perhaps tomorrow he’ll finish the letter.  
  
Tyrael closes his eyes and goes to sleep.  
  


***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Feedback would be absolutely lovely. I’m still building this original world of mine, practicing my characters before I start the main narrative, and I’d love to know what people think!


	3. Shopping Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unfortunate encounter with some lucky bandits, Rathi and Dakota take care of the supply shopping, and learn a little bit about each other along the way.

“We need supplies to make it to Marbaden,” Rathi announces.  
  
She plants her hands on her hips and surveys her eclectic collection of companions.  
  
They’re a sorry lot, is what they are. Celeste and Tempest are both knocked out on one of the beds, snoring in odd tandem, Tempest wrapped in bloody bandages and Celeste’s face and body coated in sweat.  
  
Tyrael sits nearby, divested of his armor and his bloodied clothes, his face a maelstrom of emotion Rathi is not prepared to pick apart right now.  
  
“We can get it tomorrow. They need their rest,” Tyrael says, as though his own face isn’t creased with fatigue and dark circles crowd under his eyes.  
  
Bad luck, it had been, to stumble on that roving group of bandits. They were a motley bunch, but they’d taken Rathi and her companions by surprise, and had gotten their lucky licks in before they’d been driven off.  
  
Tempest had taken the brunt of it. She’d have lost her leg, if not for Celeste, and now Celeste is all tapped out and exhausted. It’ll be at least a day, perhaps two, before either of them will have recovered enough to move.  
  
“Or we can save time and get it today. We don’t need all have to sit here and be nannies,” Rathi says, because her skin crawls at the thought of staying in this room, playing nursemaid to the injured.  
  
She doesn’t like it, this evidence of the mortality of her companions. She needs to be doing something. She needs to be moving, before the urge to run away takes her.  
  
“Fine,” Tyrael says, in a voice creaking with fatigue. He flops a hand at her. “You know what to get.” He starts to dig in his pockets, probably looking for his money pouch, which he can never find these days, since he learned his lesson with Dakota and started moving it around.  
  
“I’ve got it this time. No worries.”  
  
Rathi turns to leave, but her eyes catch Dakota slumped in a corner, staring blankly at Tempest. Their thief had come through relatively unscathed -- Tempest kept intercepting attacks and putting herself between him and the nearest danger -- and there’s an empty look in his eyes.  
  
Rathi knows that look all too well.  
  
“Hey, Dakota,” she says, half in and out of the doorframe. When he looks up, she waves her stump of an arm at him. “Come be my strongarm.”  
  
His face goes through a ripple of emotion, a protest on his lips, no doubt he doesn’t want to leave Tempest’s side. But sitting here, staring at her while she sleeps, that’s not healthy. It’s an invitation to chastise oneself, and Dakota self-flagellate’s enough.  
  
“They’ll be fine. Tyrael’s here,” Rathi says, and then she remembers, “Easton, too, I guess. If you want to count him.”  
  
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” comes the dry reply, from the corner, where Easton has sat upon a chair, legs curled lotus beneath him, his belongings piled around him like a dragon might perch on its hoard.  
  
“I could still leave,” Easton adds, as if he hasn’t said this twice already and has yet to follow through on the threat.  
  
“You won’t.” Rathi raises her eyebrows at him before returning her attention to Dakota. She’d clap her hands together, if she could. “Come on. I want to get to the shops before they close.” This one-intersection town probably shut down at sunset.  
  
They’d been lucky to stumble on it as it is. Otherwise, it would’ve been a long, long trek through the wilderness to Marbadan, toting several injured on their backs. Times like these, Rathi wishes for a wizard. They, at least, can summon safe houses for rest.  
  
Or so she’s heard.  
  
Dakota hesitates, casting another worried glance at Tempest, but she snores loudly and flops over, mumbling something in her sleep that sounds like “gimme another shot”.  
  
“She’ll be fine,” Tyrael says, and he tosses Dakota what is probably the nicest, most reassuring smile Rathi has ever seen him offer.  
  
She’s kind of jealous. All Tyrael usually has for her is annoyed grimaces.  
  
“Fine,” Dakota says. He stands with all the reluctance of a child whose been told to tend to their chores. “Let’s make this quick.”  
  
"We'll be back soon," Rathi promises, and closes the door behind her, Dakota hovering uncomfortably close, like he thinks she's going to be shivved in the hallway and he's determined to prevent that.  
  
She honestly hadn't known he cared.  
  
"Do you know what we need?" Rathi asks to fill the heavy silence.  
  
Dakota, for as large as he is, follows her on whisper-quiet footsteps. It's a bit unnerving, to feel him looming behind her, but not really hear him. He even avoids the creaky stair Rathi had noticed when they first arrived and hauled their bloody burdens up to the second floor.  
  
The proprietor had charged them extra for the potential stains.  
  
"Food," Dakota grunts. "Bandages."  
  
"Well, yes. Those," Rathi says with a laugh. "But also a nice, warm bath and then some drinks. The strong stuff preferably."  
  
"You don't want to go to the market?" Dakota asks as they step off the landing into the small, cramped space of the first floor which doubles as a bar and apparently, central meeting place for the entire town.  
  
Nearly every table is full, and there are many in here, shoved into every inch of available space with very little room to walk between. Conversation can best be described as a dull roar, and the scent of the evening's meal hangs heavy in the air. Rathi's stomach growls.  
  
"After the market," Rathi says and cleaves a path for them through the crowd, apologizing where she must, and using a fiery glare when stubborn dwarves refuse to move. It’s quite effective when licks of flame start flickering from the tips of her hair.  
  
They plunge into the late afternoon, the sun turning the sky shades of orange against the encroaching night. Rathi hopes the market is still open. There isn't much to the town, maybe a dozen buildings built along the road, as though someone stopped to camp one night and then decided to stay, and others did, too.  
  
Forest rises up behind the buildings, maybe one hundred feet from their backs, and seems dark and unwelcoming in the oncoming night. The trees grow close together, and the underbrush is thick and unwieldy, meaning the only easy path is the road they'd taken to get here.  
  
It isn’t the Selwyn, Rathi and her companions had left that place two days ago, but it is eerie nonetheless.  
  
She talks, to take her mind off it and other things.  
  
"Tempest's going to be fine, you know," Rathi says as Dakota now walks beside her as opposed to trailing her, his brow low in a glower, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, despite the road being mostly deserted. "She's made of tougher things."  
  
Dakota snorts. "I don't need you to tell me that," he says, but the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, so maybe he had needed someone to say it.  
  
"You care for her a lot," Rathi comments, maybe fishing, maybe trying to be casual, who knows. She’s playing it by ear. She still doesn’t know all that much about her traveling companions. "I think that's nice. In a world like this, finding people to care about, it's a nice thing."  
  
Dakota's eyes narrow. He gives her a look like he's trying to see if she's poking fun or being genuine. "Is that how you lost your arm? People not caring?"  
  
Rathi laughs before she can stop herself. "No. I gave this up gladly because it got me what I wanted." She taps the end of her arm, where puckered skin is scarred and shiny and proof-positive that she, too, is made of tough things. "But I did come here alone, and I didn't expect to make friends like I have, so it's nice."  
  
Sometimes, she forgets that not everyone is raised in a political climate, where friendships and lovers and intimacies are weighed and measured by how far said connection might help you climb. Rathi doesn't know if she's ever had a genuine friend. She'd been unwilling to trust anyone that far, despite her friendliness. She's learned to keep herself apart.  
  
She couldn't show favor. She couldn't get too close. She couldn't trust anyone wanted her for herself, rather than the throne she intended to inherit.  
  
"Friends?" Dakota echoes. "You barely know us."  
  
Rathi arches a brow at him. "What would you prefer I call you? People I've decided not to kill or abandon? Co-workers? Acquaintances I intend to drop as soon as I can? All of that's a mouthful, and not the kind I like."  
  
She winks.  
  
Dakota stares at her, the soft blues of his skin flushing to purple. "Let's just get what we need," he mumbles and fumbles with the door to the squat mercantile, all but yanking it open.  
  
She swallows a laugh and follows him into the shop, squinting at the abrupt brightness. There must be over a dozen everlamps hanging from the ceiling and perching on various shelves.  
  
"Hi, hello, good evening! Welcome to my shop!" From the counter at the side emerges a voice much too cheerful for Rathi's comfort. There's a gnome perched on a stool behind it, impossible to tell their age given the longspan of gnomes, but Rathi would put them somewhere in the middle.  
  
They've got a poof of ginger-orange hair and a spray of freckles across the bridge of their nose, where also sits a set of thin-rimmed spectacles through which they peer at their customers with squinted, brown eyes.  
  
"What can I do ya for?" the gnome asks with a big, toothy grin.  
  
"Supplies," Dakota grunts, and starts to pull things from the shelves with the single-minded focus of one not interested in conversation.  
  
Fair enough. Rathi will handle the charm part.  
  
"Supplies as my strongarm here says, and perhaps some information if you're willing to share," Rathi says as she leans against the counter, which wobbles a little, so she opts to stand upright instead.  
  
"Information? Ohhh, what kind of information?" the shopkeeper asks as they adjust their glasses and peer up at Rathi. "I know a lot about a lot of things but whether or not I know what you want to know, well, I don't know."  
  
It becomes Rathi's turn to blink. "Err," she says. "Right. Well, what do you know about the forest around here? Anything we should worry about? Ghosts maybe?"  
  
"Ghosts?" The gnome tips their head back and laughs, a big belly laugh. "No, no ghosts around here. What do you think we are, the Selwyn?" They laugh again. "It's just a regular forest, my dear. A bit creepy at night, I'll give you that much, but nothing out there save trees and animals."  
  
"Dangerous animals?" Rathi asks with a tilt of her head.  
  
The gnome chuckles. "That depends on how prepared you are. Anything can be dangerous."  
  
"Quite true." Rathi glances over her shoulder where Dakota is quickly gathering an armload of supplies, probably more than they need, but prudent foresight. "What about this town? Anything interesting about it? Save yourself, of course."  
  
"Aren't you a charmer." The gnome gives her a big smile. "I'm pleased to say I'm taken, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless." They shake their head again. "This place is exactly what it appears on the surface, a brief stopover for weary travelers."  
  
“Well, darn.” Rathi affects a pretend pout. “What about food and baths? What kind of options do you have?”  
  
The gnome laughs and shakes a wrinkled finger at her. “You’re such a curious one, m’lady. This place isn’t so big ya can’t find that out yourself.” They tap their chin. “Only one place for baths, but for food, ya might try the Cursed Rose. It’s tastier than it sounds.”  
  
Dakota appears and dumps an armful of items on the counter in front of the gnome. Two bottles make a break for it, but Dakota catches them with nimble fingers and sets them back into the pile.  
  
“You, sir, like to be prepared,” the gnome says as they adjust their glasses and straighten in their stool. “All of this?”  
  
“Someone likes to be over-prepared,” Rathi says with a laugh, though given the amount of medical supplies here, Rathi supposes she can’t blame Dakota. “Plus we have a big group. How much?”  
  
“Hmmm.” The gnome starts picking through the selection with one hand, and counting on their fingers with the other.  
  
“Do we really need this much?” Rathi asks as she leans in toward Dakota, looking up at him.  
  
He glowers down at her, and on any other orc, that might have given Rathi pause. But she knows Dakota well enough that glower is his default, and he’s not actually thinking about ripping off her face.  
  
“Better to have and not need, than need and not have,” Dakota recites like it’s a lesson he’s heard a hundred times before. Rathi knows that tone. She’s had it drilled into her, too.  
  
“Fair enough,” Rathi says, just as the gnome snaps their thumb and says, “Fifteen gold for the lot of it!”  
  
Rathi exchanges a glance with Dakota who shrugs and pulls a sack from his pocket, shaking it open and tugging on the drawstrings.  
  
“That’s fine.” Rathi hands over the coin as Dakota starts to sweep their purchases into the bag with as much delicacy as he’d placed them onto the counter -- which is to say none. “Thank you…?” She leans in and raises her eyebrows.  
  
“Oh! Dearie me, I never introduced myself, did I?” The gnome grins as they dump the coins into a box under the counter before shoving it back into the depths of the shelf. “I’m Mort, of Mort’s Minutia. Pleasure to meet you…?”  
  
It’s Mort’s turn to lean in.  
  
Rathi laughs and offers them her hand. “The name’s Rathi. This one’s Dakota. We’re just passing through, but who knows, we might pass through again.”  
  
“I surely hope so. It was nice talking to you.” Mort tips their head. “If’n you need anything more, ya know where to find me.”  
  
“We absolutely do. Thanks!”  
  
Rathi tosses them a playful salute and heads outside, where Dakota waits for her, not one for politeness apparently. He’s got the bag slung over his shoulder and he’s staring down the road, toward the buildings clustered on either side of it. One of them has a sign swinging in the wind, a rose etched onto the weatherworn surface.  
  
“We should go back now,” Dakota says.  
  
“I still want a bath,” Rathi says. “And we should pick up dinner, shouldn’t we? I’ll bet Tempest would like something nice.”  
  
Dakota twitches, but she knows she has him by mentioning Tempest. “She likes meat pies,” he rumbles as he starts down the road, making a beeline for the Cursed Rose.  
  
Rathi chuckles and hurries to catch up to him. “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be. It’s pretty sweet how you look after Tempest.”  
  
“She needs it. She’s reckless,” Dakota says.  
  
“Well, I’m not arguing that.” Rathi scratches her chin and looks up at him, though his gaze is fully forward. “Do you have kids? Siblings maybe? Cause it seems like you have some experience in this.”  
  
Dakota’s lips thin. He stops in the middle of the road and looks down at her, his eyes dark and flat. “Does it matter? I’m not home so obviously they don’t mean anything, do they?”  
  
Whoa. Rathi feels like she’s touched a sensitive subject here.  
  
She holds up her hand and dances a few steps to the side and away from Dakota. “Guess I stepped in it. My bad. It was just an innocent question between friends.” She dances back another step, closer to the Cursed Rose. “Look, I’ve got an older brother I’m looking for, so I understand family complications, okay? Otherwise, forget I asked.”  
  
Something in Dakota’s face softens. “He’s missing?”  
  
“More like he left and didn’t tell us where he was going, and I don’t think he wanted to be followed either, but I’ve never been too good at listening to him.” Rathi playfully knocks herself on the head. “I’d just like to see if he’s okay before I get stuck at home.”  
  
“Family is complicated,” Dakota says, and he takes in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking down. “My brother’s name was Mathias.”  
  
Was?  
  
Every inch of Rathi itches to ask for clarification, but she doesn’t want to push. Not when she senses Dakota’s opening up to her about something he’d usually never discuss. She’d been taught tact, after all. She knows how to play the long game.  
  
“Eryen,” Rathi says. “He doesn’t look much like me. He takes after Mother more. I haven’t bothered asking if anyone’s seen him because he always was good at illusions.” She sighs and scrapes her hand through her hair, scratching her scalp. “I don’t even know where to start.”  
  
Dakota nods slowly. “Then we’ll help.”  
  
Rathi wrinkles her nose. “This is Tyrael’s quest. I’ll leave if I think I’ll find Eryen in another direction, but I don’t think--”  
  
“We’ll help,” Dakota says, and starts moving again, toward the Cursed Rose. “Tyrael will agree if he knows what’s good for him. Family is important.”  
  
Rathi smiles to herself and catches up to Dakota, falling into step beside him. “Thank you.”  
  
He grunts, and she takes it as ‘you’re welcome’.  
  
“I think that makes us friends now,” Rathi says as she darts ahead of him to push open the door to the Cursed Rose, the scent of spiced meats and butter floating out to her nose.  
  
Dakota rolls his eyes, but the corner of his lips lift around his tusks. “Sure.”  
  
Rathi grins. They might have gotten beat to hell, and barely limped here, but at least one good thing came out of it.  
  
“Now let’s go get our friends some dinner,” she says, and follows him into the Cursed Rose.  
  


***


End file.
